


Fate Worse Than Death

by CryptidPrynt



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Assisted Suicide, Canon-Typical Violence, Fear Entity Alignment Swap (The Magnus Archives), Gen, Lonely!Breekon, M/M, Sad Ending, The Lonely Fear Domain (The Magnus Archives), The Magnus Archives Season 5, Tma Villains Week, literally forgot how to post to ao3, making my own tag for him. im obsessed with him, technically, wrote this for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 23:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CryptidPrynt/pseuds/CryptidPrynt
Summary: Regarding some unfinished business Jon must attend to
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Stranger Entity Breekon & Stranger Entity Hope (The Magnus Archives), Stranger Entity Breekon/Stranger Entity Hope (The Magnus Archives)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: TMA Villains Week 2021





	Fate Worse Than Death

**Author's Note:**

> hi :> i wrote this for tma villains week on tumblr!! the prompt was entity swap i think, and i chose to rewrite breekon's death. his death scene was good, but i think jonny could have hit a little harder in a different way. i used a lot of quotes from MAG 182, so listen to that too

"Er... Jon?" Martin asked, coming to a halt as the ground changed from dirt to pavement. "What are we doing here?"  
"What do you mean?" Jon stopped as well, turning around to face his companion.  
"This is The Lonely, right?" Martin stared out at the cold fog rolling over what seemed to be a vast parking lot. "We did this already, didn't we?"  
"Oh." Jon nodded. "We did, yes."  
"Then what are we doing here again?"  
"Hmm..." Jon thought carefully of how to phrase his words. “I suppose... This is just the way we’re going.”  
Martin saw through Jon’s thin excuse. “Jon. Tell the truth.”  
Jon made a resigned noise, "There's something here I need to take care of. Unfinished business."  
"... Unfinished business." Martin sounded unamused, raising one eyebrow. "With a... Person?"  
"You could call it that."  
"Uh-huh..." Martin shifted his feet. "Will it hurt us?"  
"I don't think it can," Jon pondered. "It has the strength, but not the will."  
"Great," Martin said, not sounding thrilled. "What- what is this anyway, a parking lot? Are we going shopping in a haunted Westfield London?"  
"A warehouse," Jon replied, grabbing Martin's hand and walking forward. This clarified nothing, but there was no use in prying for more questions. If there was nothing out for their blood, Martin supposed he could go along with Jon's vague descriptions.  
At some point, cars started to pop up in the distance. Not quite cars, more like U-haul vans and mail trucks. They were spotty, far enough in the distance to where he couldn't make out the company name. The logo looked familiar, though, the shape recognizable enough to ring a bell in the back of his mind. The farther they walked, the closer they were parked together, rows of idle vans on either side of them into the far and foggy distance. They were untouched and dirty, the company name still illegible. They almost warped somehow, preventing Martin from reading them no matter how hard he focused. He tried to walk towards one, just to look inside. Jon pulled him back along. They didn't need to investigate, he supposed.

Jon was right, Martin thought, as the silhouette of a large warehouse seeped into view through the mist. Its presence grew larger the closer they got, looming dark and dull over them. They approached large garage doors, but Jon took a hard left to a small side door near the corner. The door was up a few steps, two piles of mail sitting untouched beside it. Martin didn't get a good enough look to read the names on the envelopes.  
"Hey, Jon..." Martin whispered, stepping into what looked like someone's office. "Do we know this place?"  
"It’s a... It was a relatively well-established delivery service. It's a bit more niche, now."  
Martin understood where they were, then, and could guess the vague 'unfinished business' Jon eluded to. He caught a look at a broken picture frame on the cluttered desk, the smiling face of a man he didn't recognize staring at him. Jon seemed to not know where to go next, stopping at the office door.  
"You nervous?" Martin asked.  
"It's... It's hard to see." Jon replied.  
"You could try opening the door, usually that helps to see outside of it." Martin joked, and Jon chuckled.  
"Martin..." He sounded very serious suddenly. "This domain… it plays tricks on you. Just stay close to me and be wary.”  
Martin gave him a half-smile, unnerved by the ominous statement. Jon opened the door, the creak echoing into the giant warehouse. The lights were high above their heads, doing a poor job of illuminating their surroundings. Fog rolled over the ground, wafting out of their way as they stepped in and closed the door behind them. There was a hum of an air conditioner from somewhere far off. Around them were stacked boxes and crates; containing what, Martin could not guess. The other side of the building was nearly too far to see, blending in with the mist. The far wall seemed to have a door, maybe two at either end. He wondered where they led.  
"Now, Martin..." Jon whispered, not wanting his voice to echo. "Please don't stray too far. This place will trick you, you'll hear things that aren’t- Martin?"  
Martin was gone, enticed by a shadow that passed behind one of the box towers. He thought it looked at him, a glance telling him to follow. He couldn't stop himself, already turning the corner to find nothing there. Heavy footsteps echoed in front of him, Jon's voice no longer able to be heard. He waited for the footsteps to be followed by a person, but they stopped suddenly, nobody appearing with them. After a moment of waiting, he kept walking.  
He felt like he knew where he was going, but to where he wasn't sure. It was dim, but the fog before him showed a path of disturbed mist, curling its way around another corner. Martin turned around, Jon nowhere to be found. Perhaps he didn't need Jon, though, he felt confident enough to make his way alone.  
He followed the subtle trail, pulled around corners and through dark areas by shadows and faint footsteps. The path it led him down made no sense, but he felt close to something. At some point he looked inside one of the boxes, only to reveal nothing. Tapping his fingers in them as he passed revealed the same thing, they were all empty. The sound of his own footsteps flattened to the left of him, and around a pile of boxes was a door. It was left ajar. Whisps of fog rolled against the wall, suggesting someone had just opened it. The signs were clear, and Martin approached.

The door pushed open to reveal a nearly identical warehouse space. Boxes were still everywhere, but the fog on the ground was untouched. The motion of the door blew it out of his way, almost like a welcome. The air was thicker, somehow, and the hair on the back of Martin's neck stood up. Something was in here. It was dimmer and more difficult to see, every other ceiling light turned off. Martin approached another stack of boxes, tapping the sides of each. All empty. He looked around for any sign of the direction of where to go next. His mystery guide was nowhere, leaving him to wander by himself. He walked slowly, not so sure where he was going anymore. There was a presence somewhere beyond the cardboard maze, a presence Martin assumed he was supposed to find. Which one, though, was a mystery.

He heard shifting from beyond the cardboard, and carefully looked around a corner to find exactly who he assumed he was looking for.  
In an open circle, sat atop a crate, was a delivery man. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. As martin stared he watched his shoulders shake, sniffling softly. Which one of them he was, though, was difficult to discern. He couldn't tell, the only noticeable feature being his sheer size. Even from Martin’s distance he was giant, his hands large and covering his whole face. Martin noticed a ring on one of his fingers. He couldn't recall seeing that there any time before.  
He stepped out from behind the wall of boxes and carefully stalked towards him. The shake in his shoulders stopped abruptly as Martin called out.  
"He-hello?" He called gently. "Are you alright?"  
He was roughly 8 feet away now, the delivery man's size more apparent this close. Slowly he pulled one hand down, glaring with one dark, empty eye. He looked at Martin for a good few seconds, sizing him up. His hands slid off his face and hovered in the air, his head turning slowly to stare directly at Martin His movement was unnatural and unnerving. The way he stopped seemed almost mechanical. His eyes bore holes into Martin.  
"I asked if you were alright." He repeated himself. A moment of silence followed his inquiry.  
"... Do I look alright?" Said the man in a tone surprisingly deep, Martin took a step back.  
"You don't... Seem to be having a good time... No." Martin said slowly. "Which- which one are you? If I may ask?"  
The thing in front of him said nothing, simply staring with an inanimate stiffness.  
"Like are you Hope? Is that you're name? Or is that the other-"  
"Breekon." It replied, his voice stopping just as mechanically as his movements. "Hope's dead."  
"That's.. hm." Martin shifted, crossing his arms. " S' a bit on the nose, innit?"  
"Are you real?" Breekon asked, sounding genuine.  
"Am I- yeah? Yeah, I'm real?"  
Breekon stared disbelievingly, squinting at him. He sneered slightly, bearing inhumanely sharp teeth.  
"What do you want?" He asked, lowering his hands to hold his legs. Martin noticed an identical ring hanging on a string around his neck.  
"To find you, I think," Martin replied. "Some, uh... Unfinished business?"  
"What business do we go- do I got... Do I got with you?"  
"Oh, uh, not me personally." Martin glanced around, wondering where Jon was. "Jon does, though. Apparently."  
"... Who?"  
"You know Jon, the guy you kidnapped and almost got skinned once." Martins tone was sour.  
"Did that a couple times." Breekon huffed. "Gotta be more specific than that."  
"Jon sims?" Martin tapped his foot impatiently. How did he not know Jon? Everybody knew Jon. "The archivist? The all-seeing-"  
"He's here?" Breekon's face suddenly changed, looking the slightest bit hopeful.  
"Well, yeah, He's looking for you."  
Breekon looked surprised, with the minimal expressions his face made. He seemed to be considering the unfinished business in question.  
"Wait..." He started, speaking slowly. "I know you. You're one of Magnus' lot, right?"  
"I guess... Not really anymore. I don't think."  
Breekon huffed, sounding like an attempt at a chuckle. "He want revenge?"  
"I dunno," Martin pondered, trying not to wince at his embarrassingly exaggerated accent. "He'd be valid to."  
"Whatever." Breekon hung his head and rubbed his face, his gold ring the brightest object Martin had seen in the domain so far. Marting stood awkwardly, looking around for Jon to come and wrap up whatever he was there to do. Martin knew he wasn't in danger, technically, but Breekon's presence still unnerved him. He looked out of place in the warehouse but simultaneously blended in with the atmosphere.  
Martin thought out loud, "you know, I thought you'd be in a different domain. Aren't you a Stranger or something like that?"  
"Sure."  
"But you're... Not in a stranger domain?"  
"Does it look like it?"  
"O-kay..." Martin put his hands on his hips, a little displeased with the attitude Breekon had the nerve to have. "You know, one would also think this whole nightmare world is a dream come true for you things. You don't look very happy."  
"Do you think this is our- this is my dream come true? Do you know what it's like in here?”  
“I don’t-”  
“The shadows, the voices… they led you back here didn’t they?” Breekon paused, staring at Martin who timidly nodded his head, “that’s what it’s like in here. Ye’see all these boxes, do you? They’re empty. There’s nothing in there. No signs of life, nothing to deliver. We- I’m… I’m a delivery man. Do you think being led around in nonsensical directions is my idea of paradise? Wandering aimlessly and wishing for something to snap us-- snap me out of it? It always feels like there’s something I could be doing, and I always think the shadow and the footsteps will lead me to it. They never do.”  
Martin stared at Breekon, alarmed by his eloquence. He didn’t want to feel bad, knowing the horrible things they’d done to people. But looking into his sad eyes and the glimmering ring that looked too empty, he couldn’t help but understand. It lost its purpose. It lost hope.  
“If I were in another domain, maybe I could be put to use. If we were complete, maybe we could have done something together. But as is? No. Can’t say I want this to be my forever.” Martin furrowed his brow, in contempt but almost in empathy. Breekon hung its head as it quietly continued, “Can’t even remember what he looks like. S’not like his shadow lets me get close enough to, either.”  
The air felt stale and Martin looked around, desperate for something to end the conversation. It didn’t feel right to feel pity for the thing in front of him. He snapped his head towards footsteps coming from behind him, Breekon raising his head as well. Jon speed-walked towards them both, a nervous look on his face. He recognized Breekon, and the nervousness gave way to distaste. Breekon’s hopeful expression hardened into the understanding of his inevitable end before him. Jon’s pace slowed to a halt at Martin’s side.  
“Hello again, Breekon.” He said flatly.  
"Yeah.” Breekon replied just as stale. He hunched over and slowly rose to his feet; he was much taller than he looked sitting down. Martin followed his piercing gaze as it ascended to stare down at the both of them with hatred, and an exhaustion one could only imagine weighing on their soul. “Been told you got unfinished business to settle. Deliver the wrong package?”  
“Funny,” Jon sounded unamused, “but no. It’s a bit more personal than that. You want something from me.”  
“So kind of you to come to my aid.” Breekon attempted a chuckle, but it fell flat. “... Maybe.”  
“Say it.” there was no compulsion in Jon’s eyes, no new thickness in the air. A beat passed like a century as Breekon stared dull knives into Jon’s.  
“Kill me.”  
“What?” Martin gasped, not expecting this to be the business Jon had left unfinished.  
“I should have killed you when you gave me the coffin,” Jon said, his tone almost smug, “would have saved us both some trouble.”  
“You didn’t, though.”  
“I didn’t.” They stood in tense silence for another moment; Martin stared at Breekon and tried to comfort himself with strength, not the will. “I know what you’re feeling. This is a lonely place to be… a lonely way to live.”  
“You don’t know anything.” Breekon spat, “you can’t understand. Knowing is different from experiencing, we’re both aware of that… Maybe I could rip him away from you, see how you like it.”  
“You can try.” Martin scoffed, Breekon’s harsh gaze turning to him.  
“I…” Jon cut in, turning its attention back. “I can do it for you. I warn you, though, it will hurt.”  
“Only until it doesn’t though,” Breekon spoke low, its eyes glistening like the gold ring around its neck, “right?”  
Jon seemed to choke at the statement, thinking momentarily. “... right.”  
“Good luck.” Martin offered, stepping back as Jon closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders in preparation.  
“Whatever.” Breekon replied, not moving.

The air felt heavy as Jon took deep breaths. He spread his arms slightly, palms facing towards Breekon. He looked quizzically at Jon’s strange ritual, but the hair on the back of his neck rose with the static, and he squinted at the shrill ringing in his ear.  
“Ceaseless Watcher,” Jon began, the muscles in his hands tensing. His eyes shimmered an unnatural green like a cat in a camera flash. “Turn your gaze upon this thing, this lost and broken splinter of fear.”  
The fog that pooled around their ankles quickly retreated and the lights above their heads began to flicker and squeal. Breekon’s hands shook, his face twisting into fright and pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and emitted strained protests, his voice scratchy.  
“Take what is left of it as your own and leave no trace of it behind.” Jon chanted, the sputtering bulbs above their heads further illuminating his wide eyes in the unnatural green shimmer. Breekon groaned and shrunk into itself as Jon’s ritual reached its climax. “It. Is Yours.”

Breekon howled in agony, his cry echoing into glitchy static. The ceiling lights flashed a bright green, and Breekon dissipated into the air. Jon lowered his arms and took a deep, shaking breath. Martin put a hand out to grab his shoulder, Jon leaning into the touch.  
"You alright?"  
"Yes, yes..." Jon stammered.  
"You alright?"  
"I... I will be."  
Martin cradled Jon momentarily, giving him something to lean on above his shaky legs. Jon wasn't usually this wiped out after a kill.  
“Was that one… different?” Martin asked carefully.  
“Was what different?”  
“Y'know, the speech thing.” Martin glanced back to the dark spot in which Breekon was evaporated. “Your Ceaseless Watcher thing. It sounded different from the other ones.”  
“Oh.”  
“I mean, it almost sounded like you felt bad.”  
“I did.”  
Martin looked back at Jon, surprised that he would feel pity for something that had harmed him.  
“Martin, I…” Jon stared somberly at his shoes, “It’s not like the other times. That thing couldn’t have been killed with all the horrors it’s brought upon the world. It enjoys it. It loved the fear too much to be brought down by it.  
“Okay, but so did Jude Perry, didn’t she? You killed her with her fear imprint, didn’t you?”  
“I did.”  
“Why not this one? I mean, god, they’ve been around longer than anybody can guess, why-”  
“Three hundred years.”  
“Th- three hundred years, sure. How are three hundred years of horror and misery not enough to kill just half of it?”  
“Because it's just half of it.”  
Martin pondered over that for a moment. If it were half, wouldn’t that make it weaker? Breekon sure looked miserable.  
“You don’t know what that thing felt.” Jon’s voice became sorrowful, almost sharing Breekon’s mournful tone. “There is nothing in this world or any of that thing’s lifetimes more painful than losing its other half. They relished in the fear, it wouldn’t have made a dent. But its loss? Its loss is something greater.”  
“... huh,” Martin hummed, thinking over it. “I mean, yeah I guess.”  
“There is something very powerful about having the one thing you love to be torn away from you. Being reduced like that. Killing it was a mercy.”  
“I’m not entirely sure it deserves mercy, though.”  
“It doesn’t.” His voice sharpened with his eyes, but after a beat, softened again. “... but I know I wouldn't want to suffer the same fate.”  
Martin hummed in response as they both glanced back to Breekon’s resting place. The fog slowly rolled back over it.  
“Has business been taken care of?” Martin tried to liven the mood just slightly.  
“... Yes.” Jon took a deep breath and recentered himself. “Yes, it has. Come on, let's get a move on.”  
Jon grasped Martin’s hand and let them quietly away. Jon pondered to himself if he should feel so bad about killing his previous kidnapper. He shouldn't, and he didn't entirely, but the thought of losing what he loved was a fate worse than death that he could empathize with at the very least.

**Author's Note:**

> just letting you know the author is American, so sorry for the embarrassing Westfield London reference 


End file.
